


Together, always

by sciencebee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock-Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person, Post-The Sign of Three, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebee/pseuds/sciencebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John used to think that meeting Sherlock was what he was always meant to do and that somewhere there was some version of them that got it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together, always

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after TSoT. Therefore, let's pretend Mary is not a former assasin.

He lies on his side, gripping the soft blanket tight around his naked body. He starts to shiver, the ache that has taken control over his insides, attempting to erupt at the surface. He slowly removes his wife's arm from his waist and shifts on his back. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, fists clenching the sheet, while drops of cold sweat start slithering on his forehead. 

Glimpses of black curly locks and eyes the purest shades of blue and green find their escape from the well hidden places of his mind. And he lets them. Facial details now come into full view, like pieces of a puzzle. The image is both a blessing and a curse. He's no longer restrained, no longer the puppet in a future he's not sure he desires. The ability to feel so many things at once overwhelms him. There's guilt, and atonement and yet there is also freedom. In this moment, he wants nothing more than to get lost in Sherlock's arms, let that be the last thing he does before his heart stops beating. 

John does nothing but watch Sherlock, trying to memorise every detail of his pale face. He's never allowed himself to do so, so now he tries to make up for all the time he's spent not getting lost in those eyes like the sea.

Moments pass and none of them says a word. At some point, he realizes Sherlock's eyes start glowing differently and soon he observes a tiny teardrop rolling down his prominent cheekbone. 'No, no, no,' he begs, his voice nothing but a whisper. But tears start falling down his face and he looks so hurt, so young and John would want nothing but to clean those tears with kisses and sweet reassurings.

He starts walking towards him, but the closer he gets the much farther he seems. Now he's running, but it's not enough. He knows he'll never reach him, knows the infinite distance put between them. Always reaching, but never touching. And it's his entire fault.

He suddenly opens his eyes, his heart threatening to explode in his chest. It was nothing but a nightmare, he tries to convince himself. Then why, tears start rolling down his cheeks?

John gets up, needing to be somewhere else, with somebody different so much that his whole body aches now. Clad only in his trousers, he walks out of the moonlit bedroom into the balcony, the cold air a remedy for his burning skin.

A few stars illuminate the dark sky and some sad music plays in the distance, a bittersweet symphony for senses. He wants to scream, he wants to dissipate in the wind and become nothing but dust. He feels irrational and selfish. He's married the woman not so long ago he was considering the love of his life. But when he finally saw Sherlock in that restaurant he realised how wrong he had been. His feelings, as confusing as they were, never ceased to exist. Yet he proposed to Mary and now he's pining for his best friend. 

They both love him, that's the tragedy. Sherlock even gained the courage to express his love out loud during his best man's speech. To everyone in that room, those words seemed nothing but platonic. To him, however, they had a different significance. And now he wishes he had never returned from Afghanistan, that rainy autumn morning. 

When the first rays of sunshine appear on the sky, John leaves the balcony and returns to the bedroom. His eyes catch the image of his sleeping wife, clad in his white dress shirt, which makes him smile a little. That's his future. Blonde locks and warm smiles to wake him in the morning. Hugs from his unborned child when he or she would get back from school. Tea and homemade biscuits in a small kitchen. Running around the city trying to keep pace with his best friend.

Future suddenly feels not so dark and hopeless anymore, as he's struck with the realisation that even though he feels he didn't make the right choice, had he chosen differently, he could have never forgiven himself.

-o-

Maybe Sherlock and John were never meant to be together in that way. But they surely weren't meant to be just friends either. Their relationship was far too strange and beautiful and unconventional to be categorized. Deep in their hearts, they knew how they felt about each other and that's all that mattered.

Years passed and nothing changed between them. Except that now their hair was turning grey and they didn't take as many cases as they did in the past. When John and Mary were working at the clinic, their now 6 year-old daughter, Sophie, was staying with Sherlock. The two of them were inseparable. John had never imagined he'd get to see the soft side of his best friend, who was a completely different person around Sophie.

Late in the evening, when John would come to pick his daughter, he would often find Sophie asleep on Sherlock's shoulder, exhausted from too many experiments and stories from another time. John would just smile at both of them, often with tears in his eyes. Then Sherlock would look up from his book and nod gently, reassuring him he had made the right choice 7 years ago. In moments like these, they knew that even though they could never express the love in their hearts, they were going to be fine as long as they were part of each other's lives.

John used to think that meeting Sherlock was what he was always meant to do and that somewhere there was some version of them that got it right. 

 

They learned to live with the pain of never having tasted each other's lips or never being able to hold hands when they needed it the most. It was an endurable pain that reminded them they were alive. For a love like theirs, it was worth making sacrifices. At the end of the day, they would still be best friends and their hearts would be holding hands. Together, always.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story. I'm sure it contains many mistakes, as English isn't my native language. I should also mention that the paragraph used as summary was partially taken from the short film, Exiles, which I highly recommend.


End file.
